


Just Being Neighbourly (The Remix)

by OriginalCeenote



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Baking, F/M, Fluff, Hard of Hearing Clint Barton, Lucky the pizza dog - Freeform, M/M, Miscommunication Meet-Cute, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Tall Clint, Winterhawk Remix, grumpy bucky, roommate au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24817726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: Bucky can’t remember the last time he worked this hard to get somebody’s attention. He lowered the beaters into the mixing bowl with the speed setting turned up a little too fast, making his batter fling up in tiny flecks.“Jesus, again? What are you baking for now?”“Shut up, Stevie, and hand me the vanilla, damn it.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson
Comments: 24
Kudos: 140
Collections: Winterhawk Remix 2020





	Just Being Neighbourly (The Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mariana_oconnor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariana_oconnor/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Just Being Neighbourly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13774131) by [mariana_oconnor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariana_oconnor/pseuds/mariana_oconnor). 



> This is my Winterhawk Remix entry based on the adorable oneshot fic written by mariana_oconnor.

Steve wandered past the entryway of the kitchen and glanced at Bucky where he stood by the counter, measuring out a cup of flour. “Whatcha makin’?”

“Nothin’ much. Cookies,” he offered as he nodded at the open red and white volume beside him, whose pages were stained and sticky from frequent use. Some of the Better Homes and Gardens’ recipes Bucky had memorized; some of them he’d tinkered with and made his own. This particular recipe he wanted to get just right, though. Bucky had someone he wanted to impress, and that wasn’t gonna happen if he made the guy subpar teacakes.

Because Bucky had _standards._

“That’s like the third time this month,” Steve remarked.

_Fourth_ , Bucky didn’t tell him, because he wasn’t ready for his too-astute roommate to notice a pattern.

“Is it for a work thing?”

“Nope.”

“Just because?”

“Yup.”

“Hey, wanna work out later?”

“Sure.” Easier to agree with him now than try to find answers to Steve’s questions that he just didn’t have.

“I’m gonna leave in about twenty minutes.”

“That’s fine, Stevie.” Bucky’s voice sounded a little vague as he cut the butter into the bowl and then sifted in the powdered sugar. He needed to focus.

Steve huffed and wandered off to his bedroom, lips curled in a smirk.

Bucky paused when he got to the walnuts, unsure of whether to throw them into the chopper. He dusted off his hands on his already battered - pun intended - apron and reached for his phone. He dashed off a quick text to Nat, remembering the day about a month ago when he asked her for it for the purpose of sending her a cute cat video on YouTube.

_Does Barton have any allergies? If I put nuts in the cookies, it won’t kill him, will it?_

She pinged him back with several laughing emojis that had tears in their eyes. _The only way you’ll kill him is by sending him into sugar shock, Barnes. Wow. You’re baking for him again???_

_So nuts are okay?_

Without missing a beat, she told him _As long as they’re yours._

Bucky barked out a laugh.

She sure could’ve fooled him. So far, all of Bucky’s efforts felt like they’d fizzled out. Surely, she was joking with him.

It didn’t help that Bucky’s chances were starting out in the negatives, anyway, after their less than auspicious introduction ~~after Bucky stomped across the way to tell his crush to fuck off because of the noise.~~

Love… was strange.

*

_Paw Patrol! Paw Patrol! Whenever you’re in trouble! Paw Patrol! Paw Patrol! We’ll be there on the double!_

Bucky growled and threw the pillow across the room in disgusted outrage. “What the goddamned _fuck_.” His eyes were still burning with exhaustion, and every detail of his room was unpleasantly blurred, appearing too bright. Okay. So that’s how it was going to be. 

His new neighbors sucked so far, if this newest infraction was anything to go by. So far, Bucky had only met Nat, the pert redhead driving the sweet black Corvette that she always insisted on double parking in the unmarked spaces, even though every unit in the complex was allowed up to two covered spaces. She seemed quiet, usually never blasted her music, and she sometimes brought over their misdirected mail when it ended up in her box, with a light knock on the door and a smile. She wasn’t Bucky’s type, per se, but she was cute. Seemed quiet. Low-key.

That’s why Bucky couldn’t understand the assault on his ears. It was hard enough working nights and then trying to sleep during the day back when he still lived with Steve in their rental house. Their other two roommates decided to take overseas teaching jobs and “chase their bliss.” Thankfully, the lease was up, and Bucky was ready to leave “Fraternity Row” behind. Living in an apartment meant fewer door-to-door solicitors knocking on his door, or being serenaded by at least a dozen lawnmowers as soon as he closed his eyes.

Bucky exchanged his boxers for a pair of battered blue jeans sitting on top of the unfolded clean laundry heaped in the basket. He tugged on his favorite gray tee with the Red Star Pizza logo on the sleeve and raked a hand through his hair before snatching it back into a messy ponytail. At least he would look halfway presentable before he told his new neighbors to fuck off with all that noise.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t bang on their door with _quite_ that much force. Being jerked from a sound sleep made him a little cranky. The television didn’t lower in volume, not so much as a notch. Bucky knocked again, fuming and glancing around the corridor. No one else was gonna complain about that racket?

“Hold on a minute, I’m coming,” he heard Natasha offer through the closed door before she unlocked the deadbolts and jerked it open. Her expression was immediately apologetic. “Oh, shit. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be home, and I know my goofball roommate wasn’t-”

“About that,” Bucky interrupted. “Some of us work at night. This? This thing happening right here?” he began, motioning vaguely into her apartment while she leaned on the door, hand propped on her hip. “This won’t work. I don’t wanna be a killjoy, but some of us aren’t big Paw Patrol fans.”

“Guess you’re outnumbered on this side of the hall, then,” she told him, shrugging. “We stan Chase, Rubble, and Rocky in this house.”

There was a glint of mischief in her green eyes, and she bit her lip entirely at Bucky’s expense.

“Seriously, though,” Bucky told her, “I need to sleep. You can’t turn that shit down even a _little?_ ”

“I’m not the one you need to ask, and you might not believe me right now, but I already warned him that he might be annoying the crap out of _someone_ by cranking the TV that loud.” She glanced back meaningfully over her shoulder for a moment, and then Bucky saw the moment that she made a decision. “Know what? I’ll let you tell him. C’mon in. You can meet the culprit firsthand and teach him a little something about ‘boundaries.’” She made finger-quotes around the word, and Bucky satisfied his curiosity about his new neighbors by treating himself to a long look around their apartment. It was set up almost identically to his and Steve’s, except that the kitchen was on the opposite side, and it looked like they enjoyed a lot of morning light. Bucky wasn’t jealous, given his work schedule, but it was a welcoming space. He noticed lots of framed prints and photographs hanging on the walls, and an overstuffed bookcase with lots of spy dramas and graphic novels. If Bucky wasn’t so irritated, he would consider these two just his cup of tea. Maybe invite them over for a round of Cards Against Humanity and some hard lemonade. 

“Clint? Cliinnnnt… we have _company_.” She gave the word a melodious dip and stepped aside to let Bucky into their tiny living room.

“Do you really need it that fucking loud?” Bucky demanded as he approached. He watched Natasha round the couch, and from the back of it, Bucky noticed that the guy had short, spiky blond hair that was a little mashed on one side, like he’d been lying on it. Nat poked him, and the guy craned his neck around and muttered, “Oops…” Natasha smirked and rolled her eyes, tapping him on the arm to get his attention again. “Told you,” she sing-songed, and then Bucky noticed her moving her hands in distinctive, eloquent gestures. 

“Look, some of us need to sleep, and I get that I’m probably the only guy here without a day job, but please tell me this isn’t gonna be a daily thing.”

The guy twisted his body around to stare up at Bucky, smirking with a mixture of amusement and… something else Bucky couldn’t name. He was staring at his mouth, as far as Bucky could guess, and it made him wonder if he had spinach in his teeth. He was dividing his attention between Bucky and Natasha, and Nat tapped him on the arm again, mouthing words along with her hand gestures… and…

It hit Bucky, suddenly, that his well-thought list of complaints wouldn’t have the effect he’d hoped.

“Oh, shit.” The words escaped him before he could stop them, and he heard Natasha’s roommate - boyfriend? - chuckle before he hopped up from the couch and leapt over it. 

“Sorry. Next time, I’ll keep it down. I swear. I thought the only person still home at this time of day was Mrs. Perkins, and this doesn’t faze her since, y’know. She’s deaf, too.”

Bucky felt himself flush, because a) he felt a little like a heel at the moment, and b) _holy shit_ , this guy was _phenomenally hot_. He checked so many of Bucky’s boxes, from the angular features and firm bone structure, to the fact that he towered over Bucky and had invitingly broad shoulders and a nice pair of biceps. Light blue eyes gleamed down at Bucky, holding humor in their depths.

“No. Uh. If… if you need it loud, it’s no big deal, you can-”

“He doesn’t,” Natasha interrupted. She gave Clint a long-suffering look. “Give him an inch, and this guy will take a yard. He just didn’t feel like getting up to get his aids from the other room.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Clint agrees. “I’ll put them in. I promise. I didn’t realise anyone had moved in. I’m Clint, by the way.” Bucky felt his stomach dip in disappointment as Clint looped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a little squeeze. “This is Natasha.”

“I knew that,” Bucky admitted awkwardly. “Uh. I’m Bucky.”

He watched Clint’s brows beetle together for a moment and he blinked in confusion. “Mucky?” he replies. Bucky winces sharply. He watched Nat fingerspell what appears to be his name at him. Clint hums in comprehension as she mouths and signs the word _name_ at him.

“Like the kid from Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids show?” Clint asks. Natasha shakes his arm off and rolls her eyes.

“No, Clint.”

“I’m gonna get going,” Bucky announces, realizing that he might as well leave these two to get back to whatever they were doing, suddenly feeling very much like a third wheel. Both Bucky and Nat look at him funny. Bucky rubbed his nape, tugging on his ponytail and glancing back toward the door.

“Nice meeting you,” Clint called after him. Bucky waved without turning back, deciding there was no point in trying to make further conversation after _completely fucking this up._

Clint felt rather than heard the door slam shut behind their departing guest. “Shit. I pissed him off. It’s too bad. He was cute, right?”

“He was very cute. Now, go put your aids in and turn that down so I can call Sam.”

*

Bucky had a strange yen to bake something three days later. Maybe it hit him after watching so many episodes of _The Great British Bakeoff_ with Steve every weekend, because, and Bucky thoroughly agreed with him, it was such a soothing and ridiculous show and everything on it legitimately looked delicious. Bucky went through his cupboards and fridge and found a half a bag of Tollhouse morsels. It looked like Steve had a case of the nibbles again and found Bucky’s baking stash, but there was still enough left to make a small batch of cookies.

But then a second look in the fridge told him that he had no eggs left. Shit.

Bucky didn’t feel like going all the way to the store for eggs, and Bucky considered his options. He could call Steve to bring him some on his way home from work. He could skip the cookies altogether. Or…

Nah.

Well…

Hmmm.

Getting another glance at his hot neighbor by harmlessly, casually asking him if he could borrow a couple of eggs wouldn’t hurt anything, would it? He could be taken. He probably _was_ taken. But just one tiny little _look_ wouldn’t hurt, or make him think Bucky was a stalker?

Bucky steeled himself and headed for the door. He checked himself over in the mirror in the entryway and decided he passed muster, taking a moment to straighten his shirt and hair. Bucky crossed the corridor and knocked briskly before he could lose his nerve. Natasha answered the door and grinned at him.

“We weren’t being too loud again this time, I hope?”

“Oh, my God, you two are just a couple of party animals,” Bucky deadpanned, earning himself her wrinkled up nose and her stepping aside to let him in. “I was wondering if you had any eggs?”

“Oh, sure. I’m pretty sure we do, anyway.” She glanced back toward the living room, where Clint was watching an episode of Dog Cops. “Provided that this guy didn’t eat ‘em all.” Her tone was fond, and Bucky felt himself growing flustered.

“If you do, I only need a couple.”

“Come on in! Relax. Clint’s so bored today, he’d love some company right about now, and I was just about to go out wi-”

“No,” Bucky stopped her quickly, “I won’t barge into your plans for the afternoon. I’m just doing a little baking. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“You’re not in either of our hair! Far from it, Bucky.”

Bucky lingers in the doorway and eschews Nat’s invitation to sit down. He tries to act like he’s not staring at Clint where he’s sitting on the couch, snuggling with a large golden retriever/husky mix and crooning nonsense to it. Bucky had never felt so jealous of a dog, and the thought alone made him flush. Clint ruffled his big hands through that soft fur, his face rapt and glowing with affection. Yup, Bucky was a little more gone on the guy already. His purple hearing aids were plugged in his time, so he knew Clint could hear them, and it made him a little self-conscious. And _oh, crap_ , now he was glancing over at Bucky, and he can feel his face heating up again, all the way to his hairline. _Fuck._

“Hey, what’s up, Buck-O?! You don’t hafta work tonight? Squeeze a cheek. Come and watch Dog Cops with Lucky and me!”

“He just came to borrow some eggs. Unlike some people here, Bucky can do more than throw a frozen pizza into the oven and then leave crumbs all over every available surface.”

“Think of the crumbs as ‘edible decorations,” Clint suggested. “We have eggs, though.”

“I thought we did,” Natasha agreed as Clint hopped up from the couch, making the dog whine in complaint and follow him into the kitchen. Clint was so relaxed one moment, then moved with such bouncy energy the next as he loped over to the fridge, rummaged through the second shelf, and pulled out a blue and gray carton of organic eggs.

“Eggs cost a grip now. Even a gallon of gas costs less,” Clint complained.

“A bag of groceries costs a week’s salary,” Natasha added, cheerfully one-upping him and raising her brows at Bucky.

“My _juevos_ are your _juevos_ ,” Clint assured Bucky as he flipped open the carton, exposing them and holding them out.

“Jesus, Clint… ignore him. _Please_ ignore him.

Bucky made a note to himself to Google the word when he got home, and he had the feeling he was missing the worst joke ever. Clint bit his lip, confirming his suspicion, and he looked even hotter when he did that, and Bucky’s self-control was taking a beating. The snug black tee stretched across _that chest and those abs_ screenprinted with a purple arrow target wasn't helping. Clint gingerly reached for a couple of eggs, and before he could touch the first one, Clint lightly snapped the lid down, barely missing catching his fingers, like Richard Gere in “Pretty Woman.”

“Oh, stop that, Clint!” Natasha scolded as she wrestled with Clint for the carton, making him laugh like a goofball and play keepaway with them, using his height to his advantage until she poked him sharply in the sides and armpits.

“Hey, that’s dirty pool, not the pits! NOT THE PITS! Not the tits, either!” She snatched the eggs from him in umbrage and stuck out her tongue, then turned triumphantly to Bucky and offered him the eggs again, showing the blond how it was done. “You’re mean. I’m telling on you, Nat.”

“No one will believe you.” She turned to Bucky and told him in a loud, conspiratorial whisper, “No one will ever believe him.”

Bucky smothered a laugh. He selected two of the eggs, and Clint snatched back the carton, sticking his tongue out at Natasha as a parting shot. Then, he piped up, “Hey. Wanna stay for lunch? Like, for an omelet, or something? I don’t usually ruin those.”

“He actually doesn’t. Much,” Natasha qualified.

“No. That’s… that’s fine. I’m good.” Bucky gestured with the eggs, waving with that hand. “Adios,” he offered lamely before fleeing the apartment. Natasha locked the door after him and turned back to Clint, grin blazing.

“You are _such_ a doof.”  
“Friendly, isn’t he? Guy’s got a sparkling personality. A real yuk a minute.” Clint sighed, letting his shoulders sag. “Why do I get the feeling he hates me?”

“I don’t get that impression from him, somehow. And I’m pretty good at reading people.”

“He was ready to tear me a new one the first time we met, and I wasn’t even blasting the TV this time. He was still glaring at me, so I gotta wonder what bug crawled up his ass, after all.”

“You sure enjoyed _looking_ at it. I saw you checking him out, buddy.”

“So? It was _nice_. And I’m not _blind_.” Natasha snorted, then fist-bumped him.

“It _was_ nice.”

“Bet he wore those tight jeans to impress you.” Clint’s voice was self-pitying, making Natasha tsk. “I don’t want him to think he’s wasting the effort, so hey. I’ve gotta give it my undivided attention.”

“Nah. He wasn’t dressing to impress _me_.”

“Hey, maybe not. You tend to go more for ‘business casual men’s section of JC Penney.’ Bucky’s more ‘American Eagle sales rack’ by a mile.”

“Are you trying to tell me my boyfriend wears old man clothes?”

“Trying? No.”

Natasha rat-tailed a dishtowel and snapped Clint in the ass with it, making him yelp.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t!” Clint whined. “Ow, Nat!”

“Baby.”

“You’re being mean again! I’m telling Sam!”

*

Bucky escaped to the quiet of his own kitchen and immediately looked up “juevos” on his phone. He barked a laugh, muttering “Oh, shit!” as he read the vernacular definition. It meant just what he _thought_ it meant.

Surely the guy was joking with him, then? Right? Bucky was still getting couply vibes from those two, but if he didn’t know better, he’d almost think Clint was _flirting_ with him.

Well. Okay.

Bucky set about making the cookies. He swatted Steve’s hand when he snatched the first warm one from the cooling rack, crammed half of it into his mouth, and then scooped up another handful before Bucky could stop him.

“C’mon, you almost never bake!” Steve accused mischievously as he smuggled the stolen cookies into his hoodie pocket and reached into the fridge for the half-empty half gallon of milk. He hopped up onto the counter, munched another cookie, and swigged straight from the bottle.

“My God, you’re such a heathen. Get your ass off my counter, I’m still cooking there!”

“Everything tastes better when you eat it on the counter.” Steve licked a bit of melted chocolate from his thumb. “These are bomb, Buck.”

“Don’t eat all of them yet. I need these.”

“Why?”

“You don’t need to know that yet.”

*

Bucky was an excellent baker. He wasn’t _neat_ about it, but, hey. He waffled with himself over what to say, rehearsing it the whole way to the door. He knew he looked a little wild, and maybe had a little flour mishap, because _what genius decided that paper flour sacks were a good idea?_ And maybe the butter would have handled a little more easily with the beaters if he had warmed it to room temperature first, but Bucky wanted to finish the cookies before he lost his nerve.  
Clint opens the door a few moments after he knocks, and his expression mingles amusement with confusion. He’s staring Bucky up and down, and his eyes land on the apron. It’s standard red cotton, not one of those frilly nineteen-fifties numbers that he bought his sister as a gag gift when she got married, but Bucky knows it doesn’t exactly scream “sexy beast.”

“Uh… to say thanks… for the eggs,” Bucky says. He shoves the plate at Clint, feeling a glimmer of hope, but he still feels himself flush. Why can’t he stop doing that?  
“Right. Uh…”  
They stare at each other for a long moment. Bucky searches for any possible, meaningful thing to say and comes up empty.  
“Did the kitchen explode on you?” Clint asks him after a beat.  
Bucky blinks. That. That… so wasn’t the reaction he was hoping for. Okay. Bucky wondered if the floor beneath him could do him a solid by letting him sink down into it. But, instead-  
“There was a flour… incident.” He brushed futilely at the front of the apron, and Clint looked even more amused, but he nodded understanding.  
“Right.”  
Bucky came up empty again. Why was this so difficult? And why did Bucky feel like he had something stuck to his face? He watched Clint cram his hands into his pockets and lean against the doorway, in no hurry to take the cookies, which just made him feel even more self-conscious. Natasha mercifully appeared in the doorway beside Clint. She smiled benignly at Bucky and gave Clint a long-suffering look, an expression Bucky is growing used to. She takes the cookies- finally taking pity on Bucky - and smiles at him.  
“Thank you, these look wonderful,” she says. Clint was still staring at him. “Would you like to come in?” she asks. Bucky shakes his head, not ready to run with that opportunity yet in his current state.  
“No… I’m… Enjoy the cookies. I’m good.” Bucky turned tail and fled back to his apartment, heart pounding with embarrassment.  
Natasha glares at Clint. “That could have gone better. Take your cookies,” she says, pushing them towards him again.  
“Our cookies,” he corrects her, but the plate smells richly of chocolate and butter, well. Okay. _His_ cookies.  
She sighs and turns to Lucky with a raised eyebrow. “Lucky, your daddy is a dumbass.” But she does pluck a cookie from the plate before heading back into the kitchen for tea.  
*

Sam is getting a little too familiar with the gingersnaps. “You said your neighbor across the way baked these?” He’s dunking one in a glass of milk, easily his fourth by Clint’s count. Not that he’s counting.  
“Apparently that’s his thing.” Natasha came over and sat on the edge of his lap and took a cookie for herself from the plate. They were fragrant and mouthwatering, and Clint was quick this time to take them from Bucky at the doorway. Their fingertips grazed as the plate changed hands, and Bucky felt pleasant little tingles, both from that brief contact and Clint’s lazy smile.  
“Why don’t you bake like this for me?” Sam wondered.  
“Because that’s not my thing.”  
“Well, it could be!”  
“You love me for my biting wit and the thing I do with my-”  
“La-la-la-la-la! I can’t hear you!” Clint sang, clapping his palms over his ears.  
“Don’t wanna hear more about our sex life, roomie?” Nat’s expression was sheer evil. Clint turned off his aids just for spite. “Hey, no fair!”  
“What?” Clint cupped a hand around one ear. “I missed that. What?”  
Sam grinned and sipped his milk. Natasha “hmmphed” and kissed Sam’s temple.  
Gads, those two were sickening.  
“He likes him. Clint’s afraid to go over there and talk to him,” Natasha said, nonplussed as she signed along. Clint rolled his eyes.  
“I’m not afraid. He’s not into me, he’s into _you_.”  
Nat turned to Sam and shook her head. “Uh-uh. He’s so not into me. He turns red as a beet every time he sees Clint. And he _bakes_ for him.”  
Sam chuckled. “Nice.”  
“I was totally low carb before those two moved in across the hall,” Natasha accused. “If I get a fat ass, it’s their fault, Sam.”  
“You act like this is a problem?” Sam waggled his eyebrows and snuck a sly hand along the curve of her rump, squeezing it. She swatted him and gave him a little growl, suffering his kiss of apology.  
Lucky eyed Clint soulfully, but Clint denied him. “Sorry, buddy. You and I both know as soon as I give you one of these, you’re gonna get the farts and clear the room.” Lucky whined and thumped his tail. “Daddy’s got some jerky for you, but the cookies are mine.”  
“You said they were ours, Clint.”  
“Oh, yeah, Nat? Well, I meant they were mine.”  
*  
Bucky can’t remember the last time he worked this hard to get somebody’s attention. He lowered the beaters into the mixing bowl with the speed setting turned up a little too fast, making his batter fling up in tiny flecks.

“Jesus, again? What are you baking for now?”

“Shut up, Stevie, and hand me the vanilla, damn it.”

*

“Oh, my God. Are those macarons?”  
“I mean, if you wanna get fancy and call ‘em that, sure. I think of ‘em as “bougee Oreos.”  
That actually sounded like a _joke_. Clint almost choked on the one he was tasting when Bucky said that, and Bucky was way too cute when he smirked at Clint that way, making his cheek dimple.  
“Wanna come in?”  
“Gotta meet Stevie for a run. Then I have to bag a few hours of sleep. Working tonight. Uh. Yeah. See you around.”  
Damn it. Maybe he noticed that Nat’s car wasn’t parked outside.  
*

The cookies weren’t helping.  
“I’ve got nothing, Steve. I don’t know what else to do at this point. Maybe my first guess was right? I mean, am I a creep for trying to win him over with baking? He’s gotta be with Natasha.”  
“That’s not the impression I get from those two at _all_ ,” Steve panted as they sprinted around the park. “Seriously, though, Buck. Baking? That’s your plan?”  
“I thought it might get his attention.”  
“I’ve seen him look at you. Especially your ass. You’ve got Clint’s attention.”  
“I don’t feel like it’s the good attention, though. It’s more like the ‘hey, you’ve got a booger hangin’ out of your nose’ attention. I feel like he’s always amused at my expense.”  
“Pfffftttt…” Steve sputtered, shaking his head and making sweat fly from his soaking hair. They’d gone three miles so far, at Steve’s insistence, because he’d been eating Bucky’s efforts, too, claiming to “make sure they were good enough to share” before Bucky delivered them across the corridor.  
By the time they finished running, they were both drenched. Bucky tugged off his shirt, glad that Clint was probably at work right about how. Bucky’s hair was plastered to his nape and skull and his cotton shorts and Lycra tank were both practically transparent. He was a flushed, sweaty wreck.  
*  
“Fuck!”  
The coffee dribbled down Clint’s front, drawing his attention from the window.  
Shirtless. Glistening. Dear _God_. Clint from zero to boner in five seconds.  
Clint glanced down at his own shirt in dismay. “FUCK!” he repeated, much more emphatically. Lucky whined up at him, looking for attention and clinging to Clint’s leg. “Man, Lucky, your daddy’s got it bad.” He gave the dog’s head a thoughtful scratch. “Be glad you’re neutered, boy…”  
Bucky couldn’t sense anyone staring at him, but he wondered vaguely if Clint ever ran, and maybe, if he’d be keen on bringing his dog...  
*  
The universe had a funny way of answering Bucky’s prayers. But, hey. Bucky wasn’t exactly picky.  
He was running with Steve again, and they were racing - nothing new - and just fucking around, and Steve kept trying to pass him, repeating “On your left!” just to get Bucky’s goat.  
“Ain’t gonna happen, asshole!” Bucky promised, panting and laughing at the risk of a stitch in his side.  
Steve grinned evilly and poured it on, making Bucky really work as they came over the scant slope, when suddenly, a slobbering ball of fur jumped them, knocking Bucky on his ass. Bucky sputtered, feeling every muscle in his body clench up from stopping so abruptly, and he realized Lucky was huffing up at him, tail slapping against his and Steve’s legs as he tried to lick Bucky’s face off.  
“Oh, my God,” Bucky sputtered. “Easy, boy! Where did you just come from?”  
“Geez! Aw, Lucky, no! And Bucky, aw, no! I’m so sorry about my dog!” Clint came sprinting up to them, leash coiled in his hand. “I let him off for just a minute so I could throw him a frisbee, but he had other ideas. God, you probably think I suck as a dog dad.”  
“Are you kidding? You’re the best dog dad ever,” Steve assured him as he knelt down to get in on the action, scratching the pup behind the ears. “Who’s a sweet boy, huh?” Lucky lapped the sweat from their skin with enthusiasm, tail just thumping away, while Clint stood there looking appalled. Bucky felt ridiculous, sitting there on his ass and a sweaty, disheveled wreck. Clint wore a pair of lightweight Lycra knit, racing striped sweats and a sleeveless hoodie that showed off _those arms_ and he had a little band-aid on the underside of his jaw, probably protecting a shaving cut. Bucky caught a whiff of his aftershave and he was a little sweaty, too; maybe he’d been been jogging at a more leisurely pace just to exercise his dog. That thought appealed to Bucky.  
“I needed a shower, anyway, but now your dog is giving me a bath,” Bucky told him. Clint was looking at him funny, and Bucky felt himself blush and tingle again, because, well, _Clint_. His sweat was cooling on his flesh, having the usual effect on his nipples. _Geez._  
Steve rights himself and stands up, reaching for Clint’s hand.  
“Hi. You must be Clint. Steve.” Bucky busies himself petting the dog. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”  
“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky growls in warning. Did he really need to call Bucky out like this? Steve ignores Bucky, though, and keeps giving Clint that Rogers megawatt smile.  
“Yeah, that’s me,” Clint agrees, looking strangely uncomfortable and scratching his nape. “Sorry about… uh, the noise and… I guess you would have got more cookies if it wasn’t for me an’ Nat eating ‘em all…”  
Steve laughs and shakes his head.  
“Are you kidding? Don’t even worry about it. I’ve had to add an extra mile to my run just to make sure I still fit in my clothes,” Steve shrugs. “And I make sure Bucky runs it with me, since he’s the one making it _necessary_. Where’s Natasha?”  
“At Sam’s. Her boyfriend’s,” Clint qualifies. Bucky’s head jerks up, and his hand pauses mid-scratch behind Lucky’s ear. “She stays there a couple of nights a week. He can’t really come to ours, because it’s too far away from his work, and it ends up being a funky commute.”  
“Her boyfriend?” Steve asks. He yelps a little as Bucky punches him in the leg, making him wince. “I thought that the two of you…?”  
Clint blinks.  
“Uh. No, I mean, we did. Ages ago, but no. We’re not.” He swears he’s usually better at making whole sentences than this. Lucky finally takes mercy on him and returns to his hand, thwacking his tail against his legs. Bucky watches Clint reach for the dog absently, finding all he can do is stare at Clint. Until he notices that Steve is staring at the two of them, gradually putting two and two together.  
And Bucky hopes like hell that - oh, never mind, that’s his face cracking in the grin that he can’t help, because _holy shit, Clint Barton is single._ Steve just bites his lip, eyes twinkling with hidden laughter, and it’s too much. Bucky is about to sock him in the leg again until Steve reaches down to tug Bucky to his feet.  
“I should let you guys get back to… yeah.” Clint lets the words trail off, gesturing vaguely at the two of them.  
“Right,” Steve says. “It was great to meet you. I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot more of you soon.”  
“Uh.” Clint waves, and his expression is a little clueless as he clips Bucky’s leash to his halter and hurries off.  
“Bye Clint,” Bucky says, and he ignores Steve’s snort beside him, no longer caring that he can’t. Stop. Smiling.

*  
Natasha came home a few minutes early, unfastening her nursing fanny pack and setting down her badge on the table. “Hey. Why doesn’t it smell like cookies?”  
“You haven’t noticed that there haven’t been any for a while?” Clint snorts.  
“Well, I noticed. I was just wondering when you were finally going to finally put Bucky out of his misery and ask him out.”  
“Are you kidding? He’s probably stopped baking because you’ve broken his heart!”  
“Clint.”  
“What?”  
“Are you _kidding?!_ ”  
“What?!”  
“I haven’t broken anything,” she says. “I told you, he doesn’t have a crush on _me_.”  
“You didn’t see him look up when he heard you had a boyfriend,” Clint says.  
“When he heard I had a boyfriend, or when he found out that boyfriend wasn’t you?” Natasha asks. Clint stares at her for a moment. Because what she was suggesting… nah. It couldn’t… because… Bucky… Bucky couldn’t…???  
“What’s that got to do with anything?” She mutters something in Russian that doesn’t sound complimentary, then goes to grab her phone.  
“Because I’m feeling generous, I’m going to order you some pizza,” she says. “And then I’m going to go out to see Sam, and you are going to fix this. And I’m going to regale him of what an idiot you’ve been.”  
“Fix what?” Clint asks, but Natasha just rolls her eyes and hits the pizza speed dial. “Extra cheese,” he says, which earns him a sigh as well.  
*  
Bucky wasn’t expecting the text from Nat, but again, he would take whatever favor the universe saw fit to throw his way. _Hey. Are you home already? Do you have to work tonight._  
Bucky felt himself prickle with excitement as his fingers flew across the screen. _No. Why?_  
She sent him back a smirky faced emoji and replied, _Just trust me. Take a shower, put on those tight jeans, and do a little something with your hair. Don’t worry about baking anything. I’ll take care of that. I’m ordering in for you. Then I’m going out._  
Bucky grinned. _I’ll take your word for it._

Bucky knocked on the door, not as nervous as usual, just so excited he could burst. He heard Clint and Lucky hurrying for the door, and when Clint opened it, he looked confused, and pleasantly surprised. He had just pulled his wallet from his pants pocket, and Lucky was trying to hop up and investigate the box. “Down, boy,” Clint muttered as he hauled his dog back by his collar. “Heyyyy…”  
Bucky found himself grinning up at him. “Hey. Looks like they sent this to me by mistake.”  
“Lucky you. Must’ve been a new guy,” Clint reasoned, and he gave Bucky a lopsided smile. “Nat’s not here.”  
“I know. She mentioned she was going out.”  
“Oh. Uh…” Clint hissed down at his dog. “Quit it. Go lay down, boy! C’mon, you know better than that!” Lucky whined, thumping his tail, making big mournful eyes at Clint and the box. “Go! Lay down! Be good!” Lucky padded off to the living room, looking totally betrayed, but Clint gave Bucky an apologetic look. “Sorry about the whole… boyfriend thing.”  
“What?”  
“Sam? Nat’s… her boyfriend. I mean… she’s been seeing him for a long time, and they’re pretty tight. Sickening, even. That’s why you were baking all the cookies, right? Don’t get me wrong, she loved ‘em as much as I did, but-”

Bucky felt his face taking a journey. It dawned on him what Clint was trying to tell him, and amusement bubbled up in his chest. He snickered, scrunching up his face, tried to master it, then guffawed. Clint’s brows beetled.  
“You’re laughing,” Clint said slowly. “Why are you laughing? Did I say something funny?”  
“I’m not really into redheads,” Bucky says slowly, and Clint frowns. That makes no sense. “Sam’s a lucky guy, but that’s as far as I can go with that. _Sam_ is a lucky guy. But not as lucky as _I_ am.”  
Several different emotions flickered over Clint’s face. “Wait. What?”  
Bucky grinned at him. “Can I come in?”  
“You never want to…? I mean, I thought you _hated me_?!”  
“I really don’t. Steve tells me I have ‘Resting Bitch Face’ all the time, but… okay, it’s gotten me into trouble before. But I’m sorry if I gave you that impression, Clint.”  
“But the cookies…”  
“Yeah,” Bucky looks a bit abashed, ducking his head. “I might have gone overboard. Steve’s been laughing himself silly.” Clint let him inside, still looking dumbfounded.  
“But you’re not really into redheads.”  
“No. I really prefer blonds.” Clint’s hand drifted up to his own hair at that bit of news.  
“So you and Steve?” Clint asks. “I didn’t…”  
“He’s blond. But he’s _Steve_. We’ve been friends too long, and I know too many of his secrets. It’d never work.”  
“So. You... “ Clint paused, then pointed to himself. “Me?”  
“You,” Bucky confirmed. His grin was smug, and Clint’s bloomed as Bucky lifted up the lid of the pizza box. “We can talk about it over dinner.”  
“Extra cheese?”  
“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t bring dessert.”  
“Trust me. You did.”  
And then, well. Bucky couldn’t stop grinning after _that._


End file.
